


The Gift of Truth

by Hexiva



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: AU where Tyrell survives s4, Class Differences, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Light-Hearted, M/M, and is dating Mr. Robot, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: Mr. Robot and Tyrell Wellick have been dating for about a month when Tyrell starts bombarding Mr. Robot with expensive gifts. Mr. Robot isn't a fan of it.
Relationships: Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	The Gift of Truth

It starts on Elliot’s birthday. Mr. Robot has been dating Tyrell for about a month by then. Or, at least, Tyrell says they’re dating. Mr. Robot prefers to think he’s just getting his dick wet, but whenever he says that, Mastermind starts accusing him of ‘protesting too much,’ so he’s stopped. 

For Elliot’s birthday, Tyrell gets Robot a watch. It costs more than Robot’s last ten desktop setups put together. There’s gold on the wristband and a sapphire in the face.

“What is this?” Robot asks him, annoyed. “What do you think I’m gonna do with a watch? It’s 2018, you know. I don’t need a watch. I have a  _ phone.  _ Tells the time in every country in the world.”

“It’s not about the function, you know,” Tyrell says, looking aggrieved. “It’s a handsome watch. Just like you.”

“I’m a handsome watch?” Robot says, raising an eyebrow. 

“No - no - ” Tyrell protests. “You - you’re handsome.”

“I  _ am  _ handsome,” Mr. Robot says, winking at Tyrell. “But I’m not taking this watch.”

“Not - taking it?” Tyrell says, blinking cluelessly. He’s cute when he’s dumb, Mr. Robot thinks. “It’s a gift. You can’t do that.”

“Well, I am,” Mr. Robot says, putting the watch back in its box and handing it back to Tyrell. “You can’t buy my affection, Wellick. Try again.”

And he thinks that’s the end of it. But he’s wrong. 

On Christmas, Mr. Robot comes home to find workmen in his apartment, bringing in boxes and plugging something in. Robot’s first thought is that someone’s trying to bug his apartment, but one look at Tyrell standing in his apartment looking terribly proud of himself disabuses him of that notion. 

He elbows one of the workers out of the way and confronts Tyrell. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing, Wellick?” 

Tyrell looks taken aback by Mr. Robot’s aggression. “It’s your Christmas gift. A new computer - the latest model, new monitors, an ergonomic keyboard - I thought you could use an upgrade.”

_ “No,”  _ Mr. Robot says. “What the fuck, Tyrell? What part of my personality or history led you to believe I wanted to you bring a bunch of random strangers into my apartment to fuck with my  _ computer?” _

Tyrell looks hurt. “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says.

“No,” Mr. Robot snaps. “You wanted to show off how rich you are by buying me an expensive gift. Get all of this shit out of my apartment.” Luckily, they haven’t touched his original computer yet. As far as he knows - Mastermind’s probably going to do a full wipedown as soon as they’re gone. 

“But it’s all already here - ” Tyrell protests.

“I don’t care,” Mr. Robot says. “Take it out.” As Tyrell turns to obey, Mr. Robot calls after him, “And if I hear you shouting at the workers, I’m dumping you!” 

For Valentine’s Day, Tyrell gets him a bottle of expensive wine. Mr. Robot just sits and stares at it. 

“How much did this one cost?” he asks.

“A few thousand dollars,” Tyrell admits.

“And can you - okay - can you look me in the eyes, and tell me you can actually tell the difference between this and your local two-buck chuck, Tyrell?”

“Yes,” Tyrell says, affronted.

Mr. Robot raises an eyebrow. 

“ . . . No,” Tyrell admits. “Not really.”

“Me neither,” Mr. Robot says. 

He dumps the wine down the sink. 

The negative attention doesn’t seem to dissuade Tyrell. Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Earth Day, Father’s Day, Columbus Day. He gets Mr. Robot presents for holidays Mr. Robot hasn’t even heard of. Mr. Robot refuses them, until Tyrell stops taking them back, and then Robot starts pawning them and donating the money to charity. It becomes a cold war of gifts: Tyrell won’t stop buying them, and Mr. Robot refuses to take a single one.

By next August, the flood of gifts seems to have died down, and Mr. Robot dares to hope that Tyrell has given up on this bullshit. So he’s annoyed to show up to their weekly date and find Tyrell holding a gift box.

“What’s it today, then?” Robot asks sarcastically, sitting down. “Groundhog Day? Fruitcake Toss Day? Learn Your Name In Morse Code Day?”

“No,” Tyrell says, leaning in. “It’s your birthday.”

“Elliot’s birthday isn’t until - ”

“Not  _ Elliot’s,”  _ Tyrell says, waving a hand. “Yours.”

Mr. Robot blinks up at him, completely wrong-footed by that. “What?”

“I talked to Elliot. I mean - the other Elliot, the - the sweater one who likes Macs.” Mr. Robot and Tyrell both make an identical face at this; Tyrell shares his feelings on Apple products. “And he said he thought this was the day you - uh - originated. August 17th.” Tyrell looks up at Mr. Robot, hopefully. “It’s your birthday,” he says.

Mr. Robot scowls. “And what makes you think  _ that  _ is a day I’d want to remember?”

“Because it’s yours,” Tyrell says, immediately. “Not Elliot’s.”

Mr. Robot stares at him, taken aback. He doesn’t want to admit that Tyrell’s right, so instead he looks away and says, “So, what, this is another excuse for more of your ridiculous gifts?”

By way of an answer, Tyrell pushes the gift box across the cafe table to Mr. Robot. Robot sighs, heavily. “How much longer are we going to do this, Tyrell?” he asks, peeling the gift paper off. “I’m getting tired of this game.”

“Just one more,” Tyrell pleads. “Just open this one.”

Mr. Robot makes a show of sighing again, but in truth, he’s curious about what overpriced bullshit Tyrell has bought him this time. He discards the paper and opens up the box. 

Inside is - clothing. Not expensive, designer, Gucci clothing, but basic, cotton clothing. Mr. Robot lifts each garment up and inspects it. A dull green cotton t-shirt, a plaid flannel button-down, worn jeans, a plaid scarf, a khaki baseball cap, fingerless gloves, brown leather men’s shoes, and, balanced on top, a pair of glasses. Mr. Robot frowns down into the box, and then looks down at himself, and then back up at Tyrell. “What’s this?” he asks. “Why get me an exact duplicate of what I’m  _ already  _ wearing, genius? I already have these.”

Tyrell looks at him, his eyes soft.  _ “Mon cher,”  _ he says, gently, “You’re not wearing plaid. You’re wearing a black hoodie and t-shirt, just like you always are.”

“ . . .Oh,” Mr. Robot says, blinking. He looks down at himself, and if he looks just right he’s able to see what Tyrell must see, Elliot’s skinny body dressed all in black. He looks up at Tyrell, realization drawing. “Wait, then - how d’you know what I wear?”

“I asked Elliot to draw a picture of you,” Tyrell explains. “I - I wanted to see you. The way you really are. And then I thought . . .” He reaches out and touches the soft fabric of the plaid shirt with two fingers. “I thought maybe you’d want everyone else to see you the way you really are.”

Mr. Robot swallows. He’s not about this touchy-feely nonsense, but this - okay, it gets to him, all right? Sometimes it gets to him, being just - Elliot’s shadow. Like he’s not a person, just one of Elliot’s symptoms. And Tyrell - well, Tyrell looks at him like he’s real, and Robot craves that.

Robot looks away. “Look, you know I’m not great at all of this touchy-feely shit, but - sorry I snapped at you over the gifts thing.”

Tyrell looks down too. “No,” he says. “It’s okay.” And then, after a moment, “You were right. I  _ was  _ trying to buy your affection. I’m always . . . Always afraid you’re gonna see how weak I am, underneath. And you’re going to be disgusted and leave me . . . I wanted to prove to you I can give you what you want.  _ Anything  _ you want.”

“I don’t  _ want  _ a Gucci watch or a new computer setup,” Mr. Robot points out.

“I know,” Tyrell says, gently. “And I get that now. I want to - ” He looked down, shamefaced for a moment, and then said, “I want to be someone who can treat you right. I want to show you I can do better.”

Mr. Robot looks down at the box full of clothing in his arms. He feels overwhelmed, his chest uncomfortably warm. “You know, normally I leave all this stuff to Elliot,” he says.

“I know,” Tyrell says. “But you and I, we’re the same. I don’t want Elliot - I want you.” He leans in, over the cafe table, his face serious. “Will you let me say it this time?”

Mr. Robot knows what he means. “Yeah,” he says, not entirely begrudgingly. “Yeah, all right. Say it.”

“I love you,” Tyrell breathes.

And despite himself, Mr. Robot glances away, and smiles. “You know what, rich boy, you’re not so bad yourself,” he says.

It’s not an  _ I love you too,  _ but it’s as close as Mr. Robot can get. He thinks Tyrell understands what he means. After all, they’re the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I write so many fics about the meaning of clothing? Trust me, I do not dress like a person who writes about the importance of clothing. 
> 
> This is my first proper Tyrobot fic - if you liked it, please leave me a comment!


End file.
